


Of Heart and Home

by TonyPie17



Series: Rose of Every Colour [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A swearing Hobbit is not a happy Hobbit, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo, Flower Language, Gen, M/M, Some things were changed, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyPie17/pseuds/TonyPie17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things didn't go as most would have expected in the battle; Bilbo put the ring of Invisibility to better use and he did what should have been done ages ago. In the aftermath, Bilbo ends up staying in Erebor, with Thorin and the others, all of whom want to make him feel more at home.</p><p>And so began the Rose series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Heart and Home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this, this I'm rather proud of, because it's basically the prologue to a series of one shots revolving around Roses and their different meanings that Bilbo twists to his own whim. These are just something on the side of Children of Mine, since I don't plan on posting the next chapter before the end of the month (but, I'll have to admit, things don't always go as planned).
> 
> Also, Bilbo swears quite a bit in this one. Let's all pretend that our swears are the same as Hobbit swears for a moment alright?

Bilbo had been staying in Erebor for about four years now.

He didn’t know what had happened. Honestly and truly. One moment, he was sure of leaving, of going back to the Shire and his books and his bed and his garden. But the next few seemed to fly; the kingdom was being rebuilt, the royal family was still recovering, the first few caravans from the Blue Mountains were arriving, spring was turning into summer, the kingdom began trading once more, Fili, Kili, and Thorin were better, Thorin needed an advisor to negotiate with Elves, Gandalf handled all his affairs back home―

Somehow, one summer had turned into two, and two into four. Bilbo had found himself swamped with work he couldn’t just _leave_ and then he found himself joining rowdy Dwarrows every morning for breakfast and every night for dinner. Somehow, someway, he had become an integral role in Dwarven society, and he couldn’t just pack his things and go, because certain treaties would simply fall apart if he left them to Balin or worse― _Thorin_. And Erebor _needed_ those treaties.

In the time since the beginning of reconstruction, Bilbo had gone to the Elves and practically _begged_ King Thranduil to help them tend to the land. It had taken much pleading and the promise of payment, but Thranduil had eventually agreed. Bilbo had been so _happy_ ; the land around the Lonely Mountain as well as Dale had been devastated one hundred years prior. The Desolation of Smaug had spread far and wide, and because there was no one who could properly tend the land just yet (Bilbo was far from enough to care for that much land) both Erebor and Dale had been forced to go through an extremely harsh Winter.

So once all could safely leave the Mountain, Bilbo headed right to Mirkwood and negotiated (re: begged with all his Hobbit-y might) for help in replanting the flora around Dale and Erebor.

It took an entire year before the land could be used again. The winter was not as harsh thanks to the help from the Elves, but when spring came and Bilbo (along with many others from Dale) could plant vegetables and herbs, as well as grow grass to feed the cattle they would be getting, in the land around Erebor, he had rejoiced. Thorin had been glad as well; his people would not have lived long if not for Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo was seen as a great saviour.

So it was entirely unexpected (and extremely worrying) when Thorin told him he would be moving rooms.

[][][][][]

They had reconciled since the battle; Bilbo put that damnable ring (that he still kept with him, at all times) to good use and _he’d_ gone after the Pale Orc himself. It was not easy, tracking an Orc through halls that were not his own, but he did what he needed to. He had stolen from a dragon, an Elf King, and riddled with the being called Gollum in the midst of Goblin Caves. Bilbo Baggins was no longer a simple Hobbit, and he felt as much when he stood directly before the Pale Orc, the vile creature’s eyes staring past him.

He couldn’t simply strike yet, however. He’d had to wait, when there were not so many around Azog to try to defend against the invisible threat once Bilbo managed to kill him. And it was not easy. The mithril shirt Thorin had given him protected his _vital_ organs; his heart and lungs. But it did not protect his legs, and he sustained a terrible leg injury when he did ram Sting through the Defiler’s heart from where the Orc had flailed a bit, cutting him deep. The blood trail he left was what led the rest of the Orcs after him, and he couldn’t defend himself because he’d left Sting in Azog’s chest by accident.

He himself was only saved by Fili, who found him when he noticed the pool of blood while running by to find out where Azog was. He managed to fight back the Orcs that came their way until Bilbo could finally manage to pull the ring off and slip it back into his pocket, his breathing laboured and his hand trying to stop the flow of blood from his wound. Fili had sustained a terrible injury himself when he turned back to look at Bilbo; one of the Orcs caught his side.

 _They_ were saved by Dwalin, who could fight the Orcs back much better than either of them could. Bilbo was thankful he managed it; he wasn’t as worried for his wound as he was for Fili’s, because Fili had managed to lose more blood from the wound in his side than Bilbo had from the one in his leg.

Kili hadn’t been better off. He and Thorin had broke from each other to cover ground better, and he’d ended up with a horrendous head wound that could have killed him if he’d been hit any harder. Thorin (the damnable, _fucking_ , idiot) was the worst of them all, stabbed right through the chest and thrown around. If Bilbo hadn’t been getting his leg tended to when he heard the news (or afraid that Thorin would die until Oin had said he’d stabilized) he would have gone and knocked Thorin into another coma himself.

“What possessed your **damned** mind and told you to nearly die on that battlefield,” Bilbo had hissed when someone had helped him to see Thorin.

Thorin had stared at him and then looked away, a mistake on his part because Bilbo did not hesitate when he reopened his wound while grabbing the furthest braid from him and yanking Thorin’s face back towards his own. Thorin stared, astonished, as Bilbo got close enough that their noses nearly touched.

 _“Thorin Oakenshield do not turn your face from mine when I am speaking to you,”_ he snarled, and the rest of the Dwarves in the tent stopped to stare, wondering what the Hobbit planned to say to the King (who was stunned into silence himself).

Dain tried to calm the Hobbit (“Mister Baggins, I don’t think that’s the proper way to―”) but the dark look sent his way made him immediately sit back down at Fili’s bedside.

“I accepted your apology when we all thought you were on your deathbed and I was prepared to not question your actions because _someone_ said that dying in battle was _noble_ ,” Bilbo continued (and Dwalin suspiciously disappeared from the tent when he said that, clearly not wanting that enraged gaze turned to him). “But from what _Kili_ tells me―” Thorin looked over at his brown haired nephew, who was trying to hide himself “―you _allowed_ that Orc to ram you right through, just barely missing your vitals!”

Thorin couldn’t speak, so Bilbo carried on for the both them, “Suddenly, your near death doesn’t seem so _noble_ to me! Do you honestly think _Fili_ could handle running a kingdom on his own?! I think not!”

Fili couldn’t even be offended, because Bilbo was completely right. He knew absolutely shite about running a kingdom. Plus, their Hobbit looked quite cross with their Uncle, and he _really_ didn’t want to get in the middle of that and end up getting his head bitten off too (though, Bilbo had been much kinder to him, what with the saving and all).

Thorin found some will to speak, because he suddenly scowled and brought a hand up to grab at Bilbo’s own, trying to pry the Hobbit’s fingers from his hair (Bilbo held fast; he would not be so easily moved).

“You had taken my purpose in that battle away from me, and thus I saw no purpose in continuing to live through it,” he stated, as if it were obvious.

Clearly the wrong thing to say, because if Bilbo had been mad before, now he was completely _livid_.

_“YOU WERE WILLING TO DIE BECAUSE YOU DID NOT KILL AZOG YOURSELF?! YOU WERE WILLING TO LEAVE AN ENTIRE KINGDOM GRIEVING AND IN YOUR NEPHEW’S HANDS BECAUSE YOU COULD NOT KILL THE DAMNED ORC THAT WOULD HAVE STOPPED AT **NOTHING** TO KILL **YOU**?!”_

The great bellow was heard to the far reaches of the encampment that the many Dwarrows, Men, and even some Elves (either healing or being healed) were in. Everyone stopped and looked up, wondering who could possibly be shouting at such high decibels.

Inside the tent Fili and Kili were trying to disappear (Dain had left when his idiot of a cousin opened his mouth, having already figured out that whatever Thorin was going to say would not be something smart), not wanting to continue playing witness to Bilbo’s wrath against their Uncle. Thorin himself was staring, wide eyed, at Bilbo once again, his face slowly heating as the words of the Hobbit really sunk in. When Bilbo said it in that way, it suddenly made a lot of sense and at the same time absolutely _no_ sense; what had possessed him to even _think_ that trying to get himself killed had been a good idea?

Bilbo didn’t even give him time to answer. His fiery glare turned from him, and Bilbo hobbled out of the tent, seething. He got maybe six paces away from it before he collapsed, the pain from his leg shooting up his body in waves. An Elf hurried over to help him up, managing to get the Hobbit back to his own tent and into his cot. Oin handled everything from there (and he said not a word, because even with his horrid hearing he had heard the rage in Bilbo’s voice when he’d yelled at Thorin).

After that, Thorin didn’t ask to see Bilbo again for another three weeks. By then, the entire encampment had moved into the mountain. Winter was coming, and it would do no good to have the injured become sick as well. Many already had fevers from infections, and if they were in the cold come winter they would surely die. Those who were able helped to rebuild the entrance to Erebor as fast as possible, to keep the cold out.

In the three weeks that Bilbo had not seen Thorin, he thought back on his words. He’d yelled an awful lot at the Dwarrow King, and maybe said a few things that were supposed to stay locked up in his mind. But Bilbo Baggins most certainly did not regret saying them. He regretted leaving his handkerchief when he’d left the Shire, he regretted listening to Fili and Kili when they convinced him to burgle from the Trolls, he regretted awakening Smaug and allowing the Beast to terrorize Laketown. But he did not regret his words.

When Bilbo saw Thorin again, it was because Thorin had requested his presence. The Dwarf King was still in the midst of recovery, but his wounds were healing just fine. Oin had said that they would take maybe another month before they finally scarred over, and even then it would be another two, maybe three, before the muscles were fully healed and he could do strenuous activity without pain. Bilbo had let the words sink in before he’d walked into Thorin’s chambers to find the Dwarrow sitting in a comfortable looking chair, waiting.

“Master Baggins,” he rumbled, low in his throat.

“Thorin?” Bilbo called in response.

“Would you have grieved?”

Bilbo was confused by the question.

“Over what?” he asked, making his confusion known. Thorin looked up at him, icy blue eyes apologetic and soft, angry and remorseful, sad and ashamed, all at once. Bilbo caught on to what Thorin was trying to say to him when he saw those eyes.

“I would have. Grieved, I mean. For a long time. Thorin I―” he paused. “I would not be able to handle your death.” _Not when I’m still trying to figure out where we stand._

“I see,” Thorin said that and nothing more, and the two of them lapsed into something of an awkward silence. Bilbo stared into the fireplace, which was lit and blazing brightly (like all the others in the Mountain).

“Ah, I’ll just―take my leave then,” Bilbo said hurriedly. Thorin looked up at him again, and if Bilbo had stayed long enough to see, he would have noticed the emotions in Thorin’s eyes. Longing and respect, with more sadness and sorrow than any Dwarrow should be seen with.

Bilbo did not see him again until winter finally ended, when Thorin could stand on his own without worry of him collapsing. Thorin found him, within his bed chambers, and they sat down together to finally have an actual talk with each other. Not Bilbo yelling at Thorin for his stupidity, nor Thorin being solemn and grey.

“I’ve still not reconciled with Thranduil,” Thorin began with for their chat. Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up, but really he wasn’t surprised. Thranduil and Thorin were no longer at each other’s throats, but they were far from a truce.

“I wanted to ask if you’d―if you would be willing to take on the temporary role as an advisor on my personal council, to deal with and entertain all foreign dignitaries that are not Dwarven, as well as manage to work out certain treaties,” the Dwarrow explained. Bilbo heard the words, but he could see through them rather easily, and for some reason, it made him smile.

“So what you’re saying,” he began, lips quirked up and a slight chuckle in his throat, “you want me to deal with any and all things Elven?”

Thorin flushed a bit, looking a little abashed to have it said like that. But he did not deny it; that was exactly what he had meant. Thranduil had taken better to Bilbo than he ever would to Thorin because of the Hobbit’s bravery in the face of impending war. Bilbo had tried to stop it at all costs, and though he did not stop one of the largest battles in the history of the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor ( _for_ Erebor), he had managed to be one of the catalysts for the three armies (Dwarf, Man, and Elf) to come together and work against a common threat instead of fighting each other.

“I suppose you could put it in those terms, yes,” Thorin cleared his throat. He shifted in his seat, and Bilbo frowned.

“What’s troubling you, Thorin? Really and truly?” he asked.

Thorin locked eyes with Bilbo, and for the first time in weeks, Bilbo saw all of Thorin’s defenses come crashing down. The Dwarf King sagged entirely, his face showing a weariness Bilbo remembered in his Grandfather’s own from his time as Thain. Making decisions for an entire kingdom was hard; the people didn’t always agree with them, but in the end he had to do what was best. Thorin had been king only a few months, but he dealt with many more than just Dwarves; he also had the Men of Laketown to take care of as well. He was tired, though, and it was clear in the deep lines in his face.

“I would apologize again, Master Baggins, for my treatment of you, in my sickness,” Thorin sighed, hunching over a bit. Bilbo blinked and then shook his head immediately.

“Thorin―Oh, Thorin, I’ve forgiven you long ago,” he consoled, reaching a hand over to lay atop Thorin’s. Thorin twisted his hand and grasped Bilbo’s, squeezing.

“You have forgiven me and yet I feel I cannot apologize enough. You had grown to trust me and I misused that trust.” Thorin looked Bilbo in the eye. "How shall I ever regain that?"

“Thorin you have to understand, that feeling, it―it won’t go away overnight.” Bilbo shook his head. He hated to have to say this but it needed to be said. “And though I forgive you, it will take a bit of time before I fully trust you again.”

Thorin looked slightly devastated at that, but he nodded his understanding. What he had done should have been unforgivable, and yet here was the Company’s patient and brave Hobbit, reminding Thorin that he had already been forgiven. Even if he had not all of Bilbo’s trust, he had his forgiveness, which was more than Thorin thought he deserved. He dared not want for more.

“I would build you a garden,” Thorin abruptly admitted, “with my own hands. To thank you and to have you feel as at home as possible in this cold mountain.”

Bilbo smiled, “Maybe in time, Thorin, though I do not think you have to build me a garden of all things to make me feel at home. Let’s begin with mending the land. It would be preferable if we had food and grain before next winter.”

Thorin managed a small smile, just barely a tugging of the lips upward. Bilbo was glad to see it.

They stayed together for the rest of the evening, talking about future improvements and the reconstruction, until Thorin had to go back to his own room for bed. He promised to return in the morning to possibly spend more time with Bilbo and to help put together the treaty for the Elves. Bilbo had commented that Thorin would likely argue with him on more points than none, but Thorin merely waved the comment off, his smile slightly larger.

“Even if I do, I will try to ensure that I defer to your judgement,” he had chuckled, and he looked much better. It pleased Bilbo to see Thorin look― _happy_.

Their meetings became daily, even though Thorin still had his Kingdom to tend to. He tried to come by as often as possible, sometimes with and without others, asking about how Bilbo’s leg was doing and what Bilbo was deciding on. They became closer for it, and before long, they had become confidants in each other. They were nearly as close as―lovers. Even if neither saw it that way.

Bilbo’s time in Erebor grew longer and longer with each passing day. He had made plans to leave after the land around them was mended, but one summer turned into two and two to four. Before long, Bilbo couldn’t even _think_ of going back to the Shire and leaving his friends.

[][][][][]

Which brought everything back to Bilbo’s worry over why Thorin wanted him to move quarters. For the last four years, he had been staying in one of the guest rooms in the Royal Wing. He had never even _considered_ moving, but he supposed that at some point he’d have to. He was not royalty, not at all, and Thorin would have to house other nobles _somewhere_ surely. Bilbo did his best to not feel the pang of sadness in his heart that he would not still be near Thorin.

“Where do you want me to go?” Bilbo questioned, managing to keep his voice even. Thorin only smiled (he had begun doing it much more often, and Bilbo thought his expression looked much better with a smile on it) and beckoned Bilbo to follow him. The Hobbit’s brow knit together, but he followed behind Thorin nonetheless.

“It is entirely your decision whether you want to move or not―” Thorin started.

 _Oh thank heavens_ , Bilbo thought to himself upon hearing Thorin say those words.

“―but I think you will quite like this room instead,” he finished. Bilbo blinked, perplexed. How could he possibly prefer any other room than the one he was in―the one right across from Thorin’s own?

He asked no more questions, however, and they lapsed into a comfortable (but somewhat pensive on Bilbo’s end) silence, Thorin leading Bilbo down the hall of the Royal Wing. There seemed to be a dead end up ahead, but Bilbo had only recently come to find out that not all the walls in the Mountain were as they seemed. He had first witnessed it with the secret entrance into the Mountain that Bilbo had gone through to steal from Smaug, but since reconstruction began, he had learned of more and more hidden passageways and halls that were in such a state of disuse no one knew about them. They made getting to meetings much faster.

Thorin arrived at the wall and moved to the far right, where he felt along the wall a bit before finding a small hole. He produced a key and pushed it in, turning it and listening to the satisfying click of a mechanism that unlocked what appeared to be a door. Thorin pulled it open by the key, which appeared to act as a sort of handle. He gestured for Bilbo to walk first, and though Bilbo rose a skeptical eyebrow, he stepped through the door anyway.

The first impression he got was darkness. The hall (at least, that’s what it appeared to be) was completely pitch black, the only light coming in from the open door. Thorin stepped in behind him and pulled the door shut by the key as well, and as soon as it was closed they were shrouded in pseudo-night. Bilbo hoped this wasn’t supposed to be his new living space.

“Thorin, I don’t think I should sleep in a dark hallway,” he mentioned, his voice bland. Thorin chuckled at him, and Bilbo got the impression that he was shaking his head, once his eyes readjusted a bit to the darkness.

“This is not where you will sleep, Bilbo,” the Dwarf King chortled, and he reached a hand out to take Bilbo’s chin in hand, tilting his head up. Bilbo was glad for the darkness, as it kept the sudden red on his cheeks hidden from Thorin.

After a moment of staring into inky blackness, Bilbo started to notice a soft glow. It grew brighter and brighter, until the entire hall was suddenly illuminated by glittering crystals of varying colours and shades, but almost all a greenish blue hue. Bilbo was surprised by the beauty of it; the fluorescent crystals of Erebor really were some of his favourites, if he was asked to choose which gems he preferred. They lit up the area around them brilliantly.

“Come, the room is not far down, and it is closer than you think,” Thorin disclosed cryptically. Bilbo wanted to ask questions, but chose instead not to, suddenly more curious than worried about what it was Thorin had in mind.

They walked about twenty paces down the brightened hallway before Thorin suddenly stopped. Bilbo hadn’t noticed it from the beginning, but there was an actual door here, with a real handle. The shape of the door didn’t immediately register in his mind. There was a keyhole, but from the way Thorin gestured for him to open it, he figured that it was not locked. He glanced at the Dwarrow but Thorin’s smile gave away nothing, so Bilbo resigned himself and grasped the handle. With a mighty tug, he pulled the door open.

“Surprise!”

The sudden shout stunned Bilbo, who looked around to see the happy faces of the Company beaming at him. He took a few steps inside, Thorin following after him and closing the door.

“What’s―” Bilbo had to stop, making a noise in the back of his throat as he looked round at all the things inside of the room.

There were his books. His father’s favourite chair. His mother’s glory box. The vase one of his Aunts had given him. Most, if not all, of the portraits that had been in his Hobbit Hole back in the Shire. The entire place had been nearly replicated to look like Bag End. There were, of course, variations but it still seemed more like―like _home_. The furniture, the pictures, the smells, the feeling and atmosphere―

No.

The atmosphere was entirely different. Where before Bag End had felt too large and lonely, this replica felt lively, like he would never get a day’s peace, because he had thirteen rowdy Dwarves who were perfectly satisfied with running amok in his halls. It felt like Bag End, the home his father had built for his mother, but it also felt like _family_ , a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time. Not since his mother and father had passed.

He had apparently been quiet for too long, because the many faces around him started to fall.

“Bilbo? Is―do you not like it?” Bombur spoke up first, and soon the rest followed.

“Of course he doesn’t, we shouldn’t have just taken his things!” Dori fussed.

“We thought for sure he would love it though, something to remind him of home,” Fili lamented.

“We should have asked first, if you wanted this,” Balin added. “We are really and truly sorry.”

The apology snapped Bilbo back to the present, and as the Company members began arguing amongst themselves, Bilbo felt tears pricking in his eyes. They had done this for _him_ , to make him feel more at home in the Mountain. The thought made his heart swell and nearly burst, because the mere thought of having such good friends do something like this for him was almost too much for him to handle. As the tears started up, he began to laugh, loud and raucous and full body. He had to clutch himself around the middle to keep from doubling over.

Now everyone was simply confused.

“Bilbo? What’s funny?” Bofur inquired for everyone.

“You―You all―” Bilbo couldn’t even get the words out.

They were willing to wait for him to finally be able to stop, and after getting him a chair (letting him sit in his father’s favourite armchair) and a glass of water, Bilbo finally looked up at all of them, the smile on his face genuine and filled with an emotion they couldn’t quite place.

“Whose idea was this?” he asked, smile wide and pleased, because he simply had to know.

“Well, it was collective,” Kili admitted.

“Ori sketched out many of the plans, and Nori and Dwalin went and had the Dwarves that were coming from the Blue Mountains stop past the Shire to get your things,” Fili continued.

“Thorin headed most of the construction, along with Bofur and Bifur, who carved almost all the wood here,” Gloin nodded. “I made sure things got done in a timely manner, as well as kept the budget for everything.”

“Bombur made sure to stock the pantry―” at this Bilbo looked toward where he knew the kitchen to be, “―and Dori filled your wardrobe with suitable clothes for roaming the Mountain.”

“Oin ensured you had proper herbs and teas for when you got any pain, as well as filled your bathroom with many different bath soaps and tonics, each of various use,” Thorin said now. “Balin and Ori translated some of the books from the library and added them to your own.”

“And we helped Uncle with the best part!” Kili jumped up suddenly, grabbing Bilbo and pulling him up and out of his seat. Bilbo looked around at the others, who were all looking rather prideful of their handy work, as it seemed to have finally caught on that Bilbo loved what they had done.

Fili, Kili, and Thorin walked him over to a door that Bilbo would have recognized as the one that led to his garden. The thought dawned on him suddenly, and he looked at Thorin, whose smile only seemed to grow the closer they got to it. Fili pushed the door open and the four stepped out into what appeared to be a large house of glass. Bilbo immediately knew it was a greenhouse. Though they were slightly less common in the Shire, he had always wanted one; they allowed for plant life to grow no matter the season.

“You told us about these once before, and Uncle drew up all the plans for it, and hardly let anyone help with building. We sent for seeds to be brought from the Elves and Dale, so that plants might grow soon,” Fili explained.

Bilbo was simply stunned into silence. He looked at Thorin, who was only watching him for his reaction.

“Remember when I said I would build you a garden with my own hands? To thank you and to make you feel as at home as possible?” Thorin remarked.

“Thorin that―that was nearly five years ago! I did not think you would remember _that_ ,” Bilbo shook his head.

“I always thought about it. About how best to go about this so that you could see that I meant it.” Thorin gestured around at the dirt beds, flower pots, and even little plant nursery. “The others were on board immediately when I’d made my intentions known, and Balin reminded me that this place existed.”

“How did you all manage to keep this from me?” Bilbo smiled now. His Dwarves were not a very secretive bunch; if Fili and Kili did not tell, someone else surely would have, simply because none of them could lie to Bilbo for very long.

But then again, maybe they could be sneaky when they wanted. After all, they had managed to hide this from him.

“Many, many threats,” Thorin looked pointedly at his nephews, both of whom had nearly broken one of the flower pots already. Bilbo laughed at their antics, simply shaking his head. They were back over in an instant, and suddenly Bilbo had three piercing gazes on him.

“Well?” Kili asked. Bilbo tilted his head curiously.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to stay? In Erebor? For the rest of your days?” Fili continued. Bilbo looked at the three of them, and he looked back towards the door that led back into the main part of the home. He looked back at them, and a knowing smile crossed his features.

“I don’t know, though this place does feel like my old home, it also feels rather far from you all,” he expressed. He felt like the room was on the other side of the Mountain, not nearly close enough to Thorin and the others.

“Ah, but see, that’s where you’re wrong!” Fili grinned. He took Bilbo’s hand this time, pulling him towards another door on the far side of the greenhouse. Bilbo followed without complaint, curious about where this door could lead.

Fili pushed it open and led Bilbo inside, flourishing with a grand gesture as Bilbo’s eyes laid upon Thorin’s sitting room, which had been taken over as the Company sitting room. Everyone tried to meet there at least once a day, so that they could all talk and stay up to date with each other. Bilbo looked at Thorin.

“ _This_ is why you had told me the ground outside this door was unstable.” It finally clicked in his mind, and Bilbo’s face split into an even wider grin. He and the rest of their friends could go back and forth between his new room and Thorin’s sitting room with ease thanks to the new greenhouse.

“I said it was closer than you think,” Thorin shrugged. “And it wasn't a lie. The ground had been unstable until recently." He smiled. "There’s also a door that leads directly to my inner chambers, should you ever need something in the night.”

Bilbo tried not to let his heart flutter too much at the thought of being able to get to Thorin in the middle of the night if need be. It was simply―marvelous.

“Let’s head back,” Bilbo said finally, “So that I can thank all of you properly.”

The three Dwarrows followed Bilbo back through the greenhouse and into his new room, which he most definitely would begin to refer to as his smial (because it _was_ his smial, rebuilt for him by his friends, who cared a lot for him to have built it). Once they were back and everyone situated, Bilbo did exactly as he said he would.

“Thank you. All of you. For doing this for me,” he beamed. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving Erebor behind now. There was a time, in the beginning, when I had considered it. But you’ve all shown me that I don’t need to travel across the entirety of Middle-Earth to find home.”

The Company cheered, most of them taking him into crushing hugs or giving him extremely approving looks. Bilbo was glad to have friends he could consider home.

The great big smial suddenly didn’t seem so empty anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> So? What do you think? Does it have potential? I have a bunch of drabbles (that I have no doubt might end up well over one or two thousand words) lined up for this. I think it'll be something for March since I didn't want to wait for May. (You know what they say, April showers bring May flowers? Well, March snow is bringing flowers now)
> 
> Each Dwarf is chosen at random to do.


End file.
